


i sense there's something in the wind

by thesunandthestars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (i never will), Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, also...oh my god they were roommates!, betty gets kinda drunk at a party but nothing bad happens, halloween!!! :), in case you haven't gotten tired of that reference yet, movie nights and cupcakes and halloween parties, not really any angst bc i'm a fluff monster at heart, there's only the slightest reference to fp's alcoholism, what could be better?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunandthestars/pseuds/thesunandthestars
Summary: He makes a noncommittal noise, swiping a finger through the bowl of frosting and sucking it into his mouth before she can bat his hand away. “Don’t you dare,” Betty warns. “You already ate all the gummy worms I’d bought for work, to go on top of kids’ drinks.”Oh. “Those were for the coffee shop?”“Yes.” She turns toward him, arms crossed over her chest, but the laughter in her voice tells him she’s not upset. “Why else would I buy a giant bag of Halloween-themed gummy worms?”Jughead shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving sheepishly. “To get into the Halloween spirit?”“You’re incorrigible.” An amused grin pokes at her lips even as she raises an eyebrow incredulously. “I don’t know how you can eat so much junk and still look like this—” she pats his slim stomach over the t-shirt he’s got on “—but I’m certainly not complaining.”His fingers twitch with the urge to catch her hand in his. “Are you objectifying me, Cooper? How dare you.”---In which being Betty's roommate leads Jughead to discover that his feelings just might extend beyond friendship. Also, it's Halloween, which means horror movies and spooky cupcakes are involved.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 42
Kudos: 75
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	i sense there's something in the wind

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HALLOWEEN, MY FRIENDS! This time, I'm back with a fic that's on the softer side of the Halloween spectrum, but I hope you'll still find it seasonally appropriate. As mentioned above, _A Nightmare on Elm Street_ and spooky-themed cupcakes are involved, as well as Halloween costumes, toaster waffles, and perpetually late subway trains. So there's a little something for everyone lol. :)
> 
> Shoutout to the lovely ponytailplaymate for beta-ing this for me and for offering her support! I couldn't have done it without her. <3
> 
> If you couldn't tell, Halloween is my absolute favorite day of the year, and I hope that this little (how did this get to 4k?) fic converts you as well if you aren't already a fan of Halloween. Read on, my frighteningly fabulous friends, and if you enjoyed, don't forget to leave a comment! <3
> 
> (Title is from Sally's Song from the wonderfully spooky _The Nightmare Before Christmas_.)

The subway is late again.

Jughead’s gaze flickers down to the splintered screen of his ancient smartphone and back up, annoyed. It’s only been two months since he moved up to the city for college, but he’s already experienced a late train many more times than necessary. Thankfully, he’s on his way _home_ this time—being late to class or his shift at a local coffee shop is something he’s unfortunately experienced twice already and would not care to have another repeat of.

His phone chimes with the arrival of a text message. Betty’s name pops up onto the screen, and underneath, her text reads, _Are you almost home?_

 _Yeah_ , he types back, thumbs tapping at the screen rhythmically. _The subway is late. Sorry._

Her reply comes not a minute later. _Just checking. I’d hate for you to be bested by NYC’s unreliable transit system the day before our Halloween movie tradition is fulfilled this year. ;)_

Jughead snorts at that, lips curving fondly as he pictures the cheeky grin his best friend surely had on her face whilst typing her response. His phone disappears back into his pocket—carefully, as to not jostle the wired headphones resting over his ears. (The music is a good distraction from his impatience, but it’s not _that_ good.)

When his train finally rumbles down the track, Jughead exhales in a barely audible huff of irritation. There’s nowhere to sit, which he doesn’t mind all that much, but the train is packed to the point of discomfort and he’s sure he wears a scowl the whole trip. By the time he’s finally in front of his building, he’s considerably annoyed.

So perhaps he presses the elevator buttons more aggressively than necessary, and slams his apartment door closed more forcefully than necessary. There’s a gentle humming coming from the kitchen, and he drops his bag on the floor before poking his head around the corner.

Betty’s flitting around the kitchen, humming as she does, with what looks to be cupcake decorating materials lining the countertops. He softens at the sight, tension easing from his shoulders and jaw as he watches his best friend methodically swirl frosting onto a cupcake. 

“Hey, Betts.”

She whirls around, a streak of frosting on her cheek and a smile in her eyes. “Juggie! Hi.”

Jughead moves closer to lean against the counter, unable to resist the mouthwatering smell of Betty’s baking exploits. “Mmm, cupcakes.”

“They’re for Veronica’s Halloween party tonight,” she tells him, well accustomed to his one-track mind when it comes to food. “You’re still welcome to come with me if you want.”

He makes a noncommittal noise, swiping a finger through the bowl of frosting and sucking it into his mouth before she can bat his hand away. “Don’t you dare,” Betty warns. “You already ate all the gummy worms I’d bought for work, to go on top of kids’ drinks.”

Oh. “Those were for the coffee shop?”

“ _Yes_.” She turns toward him, arms crossed over her chest, but the laughter in her voice tells him she’s not upset. “Why else would I buy a giant bag of Halloween-themed gummy worms?”

Jughead shrugs, the corner of his mouth curving sheepishly. “To get into the Halloween spirit?”

“You’re incorrigible.” An amused grin pokes at her lips even as she raises an eyebrow incredulously. “I don’t know how you can eat so much junk and still look like this—” she pats his slim stomach over the t-shirt he’s got on “—but I’m certainly not complaining.”

His fingers twitch with the urge to catch her hand in his. “Are you objectifying me, Cooper? How dare you.”

She turns back to the cupcakes, but not before drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, teasingly, in a way that makes his stomach twist. 

He’d never imagined having complaints about Betty as a roommate, and he doesn’t, not really. But it hasn’t escaped him that ever since he moved in with her two months ago, after she’d admitted she’d rather rent a cheap, crappy apartment with someone she knows than share a dorm with a complete stranger, Jughead’s started to…notice her more. He’s always noticed Betty, always admired her wit and her tenacity and her excellent cooking skills, but now? Now that he wakes up to her making omelets in the tiniest pair of sleep shorts imaginable, comes home to a dozen textbooks sprawled across the living room floor and a pen trapped between her teeth, and stays on the couch long after the movie is finished because she’s fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder? Now the level of _noticing_ he does is venturing into unfamiliar, more-than-friendly territory.

“Will you find me a Tupperware I can put these in?” Betty pipes up, gesturing to the now fully decorated cupcakes and shaking him out of his thoughts.

He rifles through the bottom drawer until he finds an adequately-sized container and lid. She accepts them gratefully, and he watches as she carefully places the cupcakes inside, one after the other. “We’re still on for tomorrow night, right?” he asks, mostly to steer his mind in a safer direction. “Popcorn and horror movies?” 

It’s tradition—every Halloween since they decided that trick-or-treating no longer interested them, Jughead, Betty, and their mutual best friend Archie have spent the night watching horror movies in Archie’s living room. This year, however, Archie’s off at the naval academy and Betty has new college friends who are surely much more exciting than Jughead is. 

But he needn’t worry, because Betty replies, “Of course!” and looks over her shoulder with the same affectionate smile she’s graced him since the early days of their friendship. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You better not,” he teases, and though this banter has been their dynamic for years, there’s a new sort of fluttering in his chest that marks completely uncharted territory. “It’s gonna be great. Just you, me, and Freddy Krueger.”

She hums thoughtfully, the Tupperware lid clicking shut under her fingers. “We’re watching _A Nightmare on Elm Street_?”

“Sure?” he replies, more as a question than a statement. (He doesn’t like it, this growing hesitation he’s started to feel around her. She’s his best friend, for God’s sake.) “Unless you have something else in mind?”

“No, that’s fine,” Betty replies, and he can tell from the little smile she shoots his way that she’s being honest. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it, anyway.” Her gaze lingers on the bowl of frosting as she ponders what to do with it. “Here,” she decides after a beat, holding the bowl out to Jughead with a knowing glint in her eyes, “now you can indulge that insatiable appetite of yours.”

He takes the bowl from her hands, grateful for the distraction. The frosting is sweet on his tongue, and yes, _this_ is what he’s been craving.

Definitely not _her_.

—

Of course, because fate or _something_ likes to screw with him, Betty’s Halloween costume is more revealing than anything he’s ever seen her wear before, and it’s making him painfully aware of his newfound attraction to her. She’s dressed as Elle Woods from _Legally Blonde_ —Veronica’s going as Vivian Kensington, mean girl turned best friend—and the hot pink blazer and skirt she’s sporting only accentuate her long, toned legs and the curves of her hips.

(Frankly, he’s kind of embarrassed by his rather sudden caveman-like appreciation of Betty’s body. He’d been relieved, proud almost, when he’d escaped his teenage years indifferent to others' bodies. Now that he’s an adult with better things to worry about than who catches his eye this particular week, something that was always more Archie’s speed, of _course_ he starts drooling over a pretty girl like every other warm-blooded male on the planet.

But Betty’s not just a pretty girl. He likes her—dare he say _loves_ her—for more than just her looks. She’s his best friend, his closest companion; if there was any girl he’d develop romantic feelings for, it’d be her.

And there’s the problem.)

“How do I look?” she asks, and Jughead flounders for a beat—not because he has nothing to say, but because he has nothing to say that wouldn’t be toeing the line into that more-than-friendly zone.

“Great,” he says lamely, and then, because that feels woefully inadequate, he adds carefully, “You look just like Elle. Beautiful and badass.”

That earns him a smile, soft and almost shy. “Thanks, Juggie.” Her hand disappears into her purse and reappears with her phone, at which she glances briefly. “Veronica’s picking me up in a minute.”

He arches an eyebrow. “ _Veronica_.” In the short time he’s known Veronica Lodge, he’s never seen her in the driver’s seat. (Then again, he hasn’t driven since he arrived in the city, either. It’s much more efficient to take the subway, no matter how much of a pain in the ass it is.)

Betty rolls her eyes. “Veronica’s _chauffeur_ is picking me up in a minute.” Her expression softens the longer she looks at him. “You sure you don’t wanna come?”

“Nah.” Jughead nods toward the couch. “It’ll give me a chance to get some writing in.”

“Good.” Her brow furrows slightly, a challenge in her eyes. “You’re still gonna let me edit it when you’re done, right?”

The corner of his mouth tugs upward. “Of course. There’s no one else I’d rather tear my manuscript apart with her deadly red pen,” he drawls, the last three words emphasized with a smirk that reaches his eyes.

“So dramatic.” Betty rolls her eyes, the same playfulness he evoked mirrored back at him—except it’s somehow heavier, more meaningful, than it has ever been before. She flashes a teasing smile, and it’s almost enough to make him forget the strange weight that their banter now carries. Almost. “Bye, Jug. See you when I get home.”

When the front door closes behind her, their apartment feels inexplicably chillier, as if she’s the warmth that makes a place feel like home.

—

He’s idly scrolling through the Netflix homepage, having finally succumbed to writer’s block an hour or so before, when his phone starts ringing from its perch on the kitchen countertop. Jughead ignores it at first, with nothing more than a sidelong glance in its direction, but it rings a second time and with a groan, he gets up to retrieve it.

His annoyance dissolves the minute he reads the caller ID, replaced by fondness and a twinge of concern. “Betty? Is everything okay?”

“Juggie!” Her voice is more breathless than he’s ever heard, and he grits his teeth against the stirring in his gut that her tone evokes. _Seriously?_ “I’m _so_ glad you called!”

So she’s tipsy, then. A wisp of a smile flits across his face. Betty works so hard; she deserves to let loose every once in a while. “ _You_ called _me_ , Betts.”

“Oh.” She giggles. “Right. Pick me up?”

Her words are a bit jumbled and it takes him a beat to catch up. “You want me to pick you up? Right now?”

“I don’t wanna walk home alone,” she slurs, “‘cause it’s late and dark and I think I’m drunk? And—”

“Say no more, Betts,” Jughead says, cutting off her rambling with a hint of amusement in his voice. He pushes his laptop off his lap and starts for the door. “I’m on my way.”

He has Veronica’s address—Betty had sent it to him earlier in the evening in case of this exact situation, and he’s now very glad that she did. It seems unlikely that she’d be able to give him the address now, given her inebriated state.

Jughead smiles impishly as he pulls up his text thread with Betty to locate the address. _Man_ , is she going to get teased as hell in the morning.

He’s already halfway to the nearest subway station before it occurs to him that the lackluster transit system is not his only option. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, he toys with one of the rings on his fingers—a contemplative habit. He could just walk, he supposes, though he’s urgent to get to Betty as soon as possible. Plus, walking Betty home after she’s had one too many drinks—not his finest idea.

The rarely-used Uber app on his phone seems like the best option, so he opens it up and makes a request. _I’ll be there in 20_ , he texts Betty, once the app has informed him that a driver is on the way.

Her response is prompt and consists of a single heart-eyes emoji. He smiles at that, pockets his phone, and pulls his jacket tighter around himself as he waits.

—

Veronica’s apartment building is, from the outside (and the inside, he can only assume), the single fanciest building Jughead has ever laid eyes on. _Damn_. He’d known Betty’s new friend is rich beyond belief, but knowing something and _seeing_ it are two very different things.

His Uber driver must be thinking the same thing, because the man whistles in awe at the grandeur of the building before nodding at Jughead in farewell. “Have a nice time.”

Jughead bids adieu to the man with a polite, albeit perfunctory, “Thank you,” and makes his way up the sidewalk toward the building. Just as he’d suspected, the inside is just as luxurious as the outside, with floor-to-ceiling windows, marble flooring, and what looks to be a crystal chandelier. He has no problem finding Veronica’s apartment—a trio of moderately intoxicated zombies are loitering at the end of the hallway leading toward her parents’ penthouse, guiding him on a direct path to the party. To Betty.

His gaze finds her immediately, like a moth drawn to a flame. She’s standing near the refreshments with Veronica—the Vivian to her Elle—their arms linked as he’s seen girls inexplicably do. Betty looks as though she’s leaning against Veronica for support, not trusting her legs to keep her upright. 

A tall, dark-haired man is talking animatedly to them, wearing a blue and orange jersey that Jughead vaguely recognizes as belonging to a basketball player he doesn’t know the name of. From this distance, Jughead can’t tell how genuine Veronica’s inquisitive expression is, but he knows Betty—she’s wearing a glassy-eyed version of her “I’m pretending to be interested in what you’re saying” face. Smug relief flickers inside him at her obvious—to him, at least—disinterest in the man before her, but he quickly stamps it down. He doesn’t have time for these burgeoning feelings (jealousy? How cliché of him), not when Betty needs him. 

_Get it together, Jones._

Veronica spots him first, her eyebrow quirking as her gaze roams over his costume-less form. She leans close to Betty, whispering something in her ear, and then a wide, unbridled smile arcs across Betty’s face as she turns toward him. 

“Juggie!” she squeals, and then she’s throwing her arms around him, nearly knocking him over. 

“Woah.” He chuckles, hands hovering awkwardly behind her for a beat, and when she makes no move to pull away, they come to rest on the small of her back. “Good to see you, too.”

The dark-haired man snorts amusedly at the scene unfolding in front of him, a knowing smile on his lips. “She your girl?”

Jughead’s heart thumps against his ribcage. “What? No, we-no.” Jaw clenched, he employs his best defense mechanism: sarcasm. Veronica’s outfit is the perfect ammunition—sweater, button-up, headband, and, as always, a pearl necklace resting against her collarbone. “Didn’t you set this up?” he quips. “How’d you miss the memo that it's a _costume_ party?”

Veronica cocks an eyebrow, which is dark and perfectly sculpted. In the month that he’s known her, he’s determined that her eyebrows are the most expressive part of her face, especially when she’s unamused at whatever snarky comment he’s thrown her way. “Nice to see you, too, Jughead.” There’s a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Now get your girl home.”

Jughead shoots her a glare, but he can’t seem to muster up as much ire as usual. “See you,” he calls, and then he’s whisking Betty out of the apartment and down the hall, arm wrapped securely around her waist to keep her steady.

She stays absolutely silent until the elevator begins its descent to the lobby, at which point she murmurs, “Juggie?”

He squeezes her hip lightly in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “Yeah?”

Her head drops to rest against his shoulder, bright eyes peering up at him. “Thanks.”

In an uncharacteristically bold gesture, Jughead presses a gentle kiss to Betty’s forehead. (It’s not like she’ll remember any of this in the morning, he reasons.) “You’re welcome.”

—

She’s practically falling asleep in his arms by the time they reach their apartment. Jughead nudges the door open with his foot and guides her inside, arm still snug around her waist as he helps her into her bedroom. “C’mere,” he says, sitting her on the edge of her bed and reaching for her left shoe. “Let me help.”

Betty cocks her head curiously. “Oh.” A little crease forms between her eyebrows, and she pulls her foot away from his hands. “You don’t have to. I got it.”

His hands freeze in mid-air, dropping somewhat ungracefully to the floor after a beat. “Sorry,” slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. It’s second-nature to him, at this point, to help a drunk person out of their shoes and into bed. But he doesn’t like associating Betty with his father, not in any way, so he pushes away the thought. “Here, uh…you should change into some more comfortable clothes.”

Betty reaches for the zipper on her blazer and he turns away, inwardly cursing at the way his pulse quickens. It’s only a minute or so later that she tells him he can turn back around, and he does, amusement creeping into his expression at the sight of her leaning tiredly against her headboard, hair mussed and shirt on backward.

With a fond click of his tongue, Jughead pulls the covers up to her chin once she’s curled up, head resting on her pillow. Her eyes, though wearied, are bright, and a little bubble of affection glows beneath his sternum.

“You should kiss me.”

The bubble bursts, coating his insides like liquid that seemingly grows thicker, more meaningful, with every beat. His heart is doing full-on somersaults now, but he can’t help it, because did she just—?

“Please?” If he wasn’t absolutely frozen with shock, he’d crack a smile at the impish fluttering of her eyelashes. “I’ll give you a cupcake.”

At that, he _does_ smile. “Are you bribing me?” When she doesn’t reply, merely keeps staring at him with that damned look in her eyes, he says with a chuckle, “Go to sleep, Betts.”

“‘Night, Juggie,” he hears, and then he’s slipping out of her room and closing the door behind him.

—

He doesn’t dwell on it—her clinginess, her boldness, her invitation. He chalks it up to her intoxicated state and he tries not to think about it— _tries_ being the operative word, because, much to his embarrassment, he’s still thinking about it as she emerges from her room the next morning.

“Hey,” he says through a mouthful of toaster waffles.

Betty smiles, holding up a glass of water in her right hand. “Hey. Thanks for the water and the Aspirin.”

He swallows before he responds, giving him time to formulate his thoughts while also employing proper manners. “It’s the least I could do.”

Her expression is one of gratitude, sheepishness, and something else he can’t decipher. “Still,” she replies, voice low but firm. “I appreciate you putting up with me. I don’t doubt I did some pretty embarrassing stuff last night.”

Jughead shrugs, unable to keep the mirth out of his gaze. “I’d say it was a moderate level of embarrassment,” he quips. (Thank God she doesn’t remember, he thinks. If she did…)

Betty groans, covering her face with her free hand, but her smile peeks through her fingers. “You’re the worst,” she complains fondly. She gestures toward his plate of waffles. “Are there any more of those left?”

“I don’t think so,” he says apologetically, and without hesitation, adds, “But you can have some of mine.”

The glint in her eye tells him she’s pleased but not surprised. She slides into the seat across from him, affection dancing across her features. “Thanks.”

—

The smell of freshly buttered popcorn is one he will never tire of—it reminds him of the Twilight, of lounging in the back of Fred’s pickup truck with Betty and Archie while Jughead’s pick of the evening plays on the drive-in screen. Now, that very smell is permeating the air as Betty returns from the kitchen with a heaping bowl of popcorn. Jughead eagerly takes the bowl from her and digs in, as Betty settles down onto the couch to queue up _A Nightmare on Elm Street_.

He’s made a decent dent in the popcorn by the time the opening scene begins. Betty’s lips twitch in amusement when she glances over and sees how much he’s already wolfed down. “Hand me some?” she asks, and for some indiscernible reason, Jughead’s first reaction is to hold a piece of popcorn up to Betty’s mouth instead of handing her the entire bowl. His fingertips brush the soft skin of her lips, the wetness of her tongue, and the touch feels so intimate that it sends a shockwave down his spine.

“Sorry,” Betty murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. Jughead doesn’t reply—he’s focused resolutely on the movie playing in front of them, pretending it’s the suspenseful music emanating from the laptop speakers that’s the reason his heart is racing.

They watch in silence for the next hour, fingers occasionally brushing when they both reach into the bowl at the same time, and every single time it makes Jughead’s pulse jump like he’s a goddamn teenager. He grits his teeth and wills himself to stop reaching for the popcorn, as difficult as it is. 

Onscreen, Nancy’s just awoken from a nightmare, and she swings her feet over the side of her bed, movements cautious and breath shaky. “I’m crazy, after all,” Nancy says, head in hands, and then the music swells as Freddy jumps up behind her with a roar.

He’s seen this movie enough times to be prepared for this particular moment, but Betty evidently wasn’t—she jolts, shoulder knocking against his arm. “Shit, I forgot about that,” she breathes, a hint of laughter in her voice, and he turns to tease her, but the words die on his lips when he turns to find they’re separated by mere inches.

Something’s pulling at him now, a force that’s preventing him from looking away from Betty and the depth of her gaze. There’s something in her eyes, something he’s never seen before, or perhaps never noticed. “Jug,” she whispers slowly, testing the waters, but he’s frozen on the spot, waiting, _waiting_. It seems as though she’s waiting too, waiting for him to make the first move, and after a beat, disappointment flickers in her gaze. Her head begins to turn back in the direction of the movie, so slowly, giving him a chance to change his mind, and that’s when he does it.

With one hand coming up to cradle the side of her head and the other curling into the fabric of her sweater, Jughead leans in to press his lips to hers.

He swears his brain almost short-circuits right then and there. Betty gasps softly against his mouth at the contact and then seems to melt right into him, fingers curling into the soft lapels of his sherpa jacket. It’s purely instinctual, the way he sits up taller to deepen the kiss, both hands coming around her back to draw her further into his chest.

He’d never imagined himself in any sort of romantic situation, never thought it was in the cards for him. But _this_ , he thinks, mouth soft against hers and arms holding her close—this feels right. 

He’s always shared a certain level of intimacy with Betty. She’s the person with which he’s most comfortable, open, vulnerable. He trusts her with his successes and his failures, his best days and his worst days; he can trust her with this, too: his heart.

So when he pulls away, opens his eyes to find that hers are still closed like she’s savoring the moment, a small smile gracing her lips, there’s no awkwardness at all. Jughead feels lighter than he has in days, his mind finally at ease, and he breaks the silence with a playful, “Looks like you owe me that cupcake.”

Betty’s eyes flutter open. She gives a short, confused laugh. “What?”

“Last night,” he clarifies, idly running the neckline of her sweater between his forefinger and thumb, “you tried to get me to kiss you by promising me a cupcake.” At her incredulous (and considerably embarrassed) look, he shrugs, unable to keep the grin out of his voice. “What? I’d say I’ve earned it.”

The smile that graces Betty’s face is enough to set his heart aglow. “You certainly have,” she agrees, and this time, it’s her who leans in first.

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, what did you think? I hope you're not too disappointed that it's really not very spooky--you know me, I can't help but heap mountains of fluff on top of everything I write. :) 
> 
> Let me know down below what your favorite scene or line was, or tell me what your favorite spooky Halloween decoration is! Whatever you want. I love hearing from you guys, so don't hesitate in leaving kudos and comments if you enjoyed this contribution to the wonderful holiday that is Halloween. 
> 
> Until next time! <3


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